


The Bard of Alicante

by rebel_ren



Series: Drabbles Against Despair [33]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec is a farrier, Creativity, First Meetings, Inspiration, M/M, Magnus is a bard, Sort of D&D AU, Supportive Isabelle Lightwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_ren/pseuds/rebel_ren
Summary: Isabelle was curious about why her brother, who neither drank nor enjoyed crowds, had begun frequenting the tavern on a nightly basis. As it turned out, the bard held all the answers.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Drabbles Against Despair [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666300
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	The Bard of Alicante

**Author's Note:**

> No prompt, just the idea of bard!Magnus popping into my head. And apparently, I'm on a roll of old-timey AUs and musing about creativity!

Alexander Lightwood had no great fondness for drink. Others could do as they liked, but he’d seen firsthand what it could do to a person, a family, and he had no desire to acquire a taste for it himself.

Despite that, everyone knew where Alexander was to be found of an evening: at the fireside of the inn, his hands invariably busy whittling, sketching, or writing. Though it had taken some time for his inquisitive sister Isabelle to understand why, once she’d accompanied him to the tavern, the reason had been plain to see.

Their town might not be large. It might not boast of the finest stores and goods this side of Lake Lyn. But there was one thing Alicante had that they thought no other town can compete with: their bard.

Everyone knew of the bard Magnus, of course. They’d all heard him perform at town festivals and the like. They might all even be a little in love with him.

But Alexander, kind and caring though he was, had always kept to himself, and Isabelle had never seen him display the slightest fondness for music or dancing, so even she hadn’t suspected _that_ was the motivation behind his nightly tavern visits. She had wondered if perhaps he’d taken up chess or developed a taste for cards and gambling.

But no.

It was none of those things.

-

Alexander had no objection to his sister Isabelle accompanying him to the inn, though he rather suspected she had some ulterior motive from the determined set of her jaw and the gleam in her eyes. That expression had never boded well for him when they were children, and somehow, he doubted it would mean anything different now.

Still, the sun was setting, the smoke from the tavern’s chimney a thick plume in the sky. That meant only one thing to Alexander - the bard was about to begin. And, as Alexander visited the inn purely to see the bard, he would not risk being late.

Alexander smiled when he entered the tavern, his sister at his side, and saw that nothing had begun yet. He strolled easily over to the fireplace, pulling a chair away from a table as was his wont, and took up his usual spot there. Out of the firelight. Out of focus. Where he could watch and enjoy and let his hands create, his mind wander. Dream of what, exactly, Alexander could not say, but it did not matter. The bard’s melodies, his voice, his movements all transported Alexander to faraway lands, to faraway dreams and imaginings, and Alexander delighted in these adventures.

Alexander’s own life was simple enough. He worked as a farrier, his days occupied with forges and horseshoes and gentling horses, and he cared for his siblings. He’d taken the role on the day he’d stood up to their father, and he’d never relinquished it. He saw them as his responsibility, and while he’d once dreamed of adventuring or working as a travelling farrier, his family remained his priority. This was the time he took for himself, his nightly sojourn into the wider world.

That wasn’t all there was to it, though. Adventure and intrigue and distant lands might have drawn him in, but what had kept him coming back day after day was the man telling the tales. The bard Magnus was a tall man, lithe and muscular, his fingers skilled and nimble. His apparel varied in colour and fashion, sometimes feeling more like costume than clothing. Each day’s outfit was a fresh surprise to delight the eyes, and Alexander very much enjoyed beholding the bard in all his glory. Magnus’ fingers knew their way around many an instrument. He caressed each one, spoke to it, called it by name. He treated them like friends, lovers, cradling them close and making them sing to him. With him. His voice was not, perhaps, the most grand or trained, but there was life unmatched in it, an unparalleled ability to evoke emotion in the listener. Alexander often found himself moved to tears by Magnus’s songs and stories, and he was far from the only one. And still, there was more… for the man could _dance_ \- better, perhaps, even than he played. He moved freely, with abandon and joy, in a way that seemed to make the troubles of the day fall away and bring light and laughter to lift even the heaviest gloom.

And so it was that Alexander returned time and again. He first sat beside the fire, almost obscured from view in the dim corner beside its light, and he watched. He felt. He imagined. In time, he took up his own pursuits. He drew, making charcoal lines and smudges on parchment, and he discovered that, while he had no great talent for life drawing, his abstract smudges and swirls seemed to capture his emotions, so that experiment was a success. Sometimes, when particularly moved, Alexander would use the charcoal for another purpose, setting down a few words, a line. He had no idea what the purpose of this writing was, but he felt vaguely that the creative practice itself was worth something, and so he carefully kept each scrap of scrawled words. Poetry, song, story. It mattered not. The practice was itself a purpose.

And then, Alexander discovered whittling. He hadn’t tried it since he was young, but he’d picked up a likely looking piece of wood and just sort of… begun one evening, and that was the best yet. The wood felt good in his hands. He could _feel_ his progress, the way rough edges and splinters gave way to smooth curves and planes. Sometimes, he could even get a sense of what the wood wanted to become. It was a magical thing, and he loved it.

Tonight, even with his sister here, Alexander didn’t deviate from his routine. He pulled out his half-finished carving, this one of a wolf he was planning to give to a friend, and set to work. When Magnus began strumming his lute, humming the prelude to his nightly opening, Alexander smiled and looked up, turning his focus to the man he’d come to see.

-

Magnus was magnificent. Magical, even. Isabelle hadn’t seen him perform in some time, and she rather preferred this to the festivals in the town square. This felt smaller, more intimate. A gathering of friends and compatriots.

But more than Magnus, more than his effect on the inn patrons, Isabelle was amazed by her brother. Whether or not his eyes were on Magnus, he was completely attuned to the man, chuckling along and reacting to every joke and comment. There was something unguarded about Alexander, something relaxed and open. As warm and loving as he was to them, Isabelle didn’t know if she’d seen him like this in public very often. He tended to be quiet when around groups, saving his input and comments for home and safe spaces. And though he remained quiet now, he seemed… alight, alive in a way that made Isabelle’s heart ache.

When the performance came to an end, Alexander swept up the shavings he’d dropped on the floor, put away his carving and knife, and prepared to leave, but Isabelle put a hand on his arm.

“In a moment, brother mine,” she said with a smile. “I think I should like to talk to the performer. He did a wonderful job, after all.”

Alexander looked startled, but a slight smile curved his lips as he nodded. “Magnus always performs well,” he said.

As Isabelle tried to think of a way to bring her brother and the bard together, fortune smiled on her. The bard was passing just a small distance away, and Isabelle called to him.

“Magnus!”

Magnus turned at the sound of his name, and he smiled and came over to them. “Would you all care for something?” he asked courteously, raising his mug.

“No, we’ll be on our way shortly,” Isabelle said, “but I just wanted to tell you what a fantastic performance you gave tonight. I particularly loved the one about the man who pursued his lover to hell and brought him home. Such drama! Such romance! You truly made me _feel_ it when they reunited at last,” she said with a sigh.

Magnus grinned and bowed slightly. “The Edomite Tale is one of my personal favourites,” he said, “so I am doubly glad that it brought you joy.”

“It’s one of mine too,” Alexander said, his voice low.

Magnus smiled at him. “So you speak to me at last, friend,” he said, his voice warm with only a modicum of good-natured teasing. “I thought I should have to approach you in your corner there before I might learn your name and what it is you work at so busily each night!”

It might just be the firelight, but Isabelle could have sworn she saw her brother actually flush, and she couldn’t resist a little teasing of her own.

“Alexander, do you mean to say that you’ve not spoken to Magnus in all this time?!” she asked.

Alexander chuckled and shook his head, clearly blushing now. “But I see now that is an oversight I shall have to correct,” he said, holding out his hand.

Magnus extended his free hand, and Alexander bent over slightly, lifting Magnus’ hand to his lips for a gentle greeting kiss.

Isabelle watched in delight, amazed by her quiet older brother’s courtly behaviour. She was even more thrilled when Magnus’ eyes widened and the tips of his ears reddened slightly. Oh, she was so glad she’d come along tonight!

“Alexander, was it?” Magnus asked softly, drawing closer. He didn’t pull his hand away.

“Yes,” Alexander replied, gazing steadily at Magnus. “I’m the farrier on Clave Lane.” He didn’t release Magnus’ hand. “I’m afraid the rest of my pieces are at home, but I’ll be happy to bring them tomorrow,” he said. “And tonight’s is just a bit of carving, far from finished.”

Magnus’ eyes sparkled with interest. “May I see it, Alexander?”

“Of course.” Alexander carefully pulled the wolf carving out and handed it to Magnus, who set down his mug on a nearby table and turned the carving over in his hands. One side of it was still a rough block of wood, but on the other, the shape of a wolf’s body was clearly visible, its head much more detailed.

“This is lovely, Alexander,” Magnus said warmly. “The texture of the fur… and it seems so lifelike already. I shall look forward to seeing the final product.”

Alexander smiled and shook his head slightly. “It means a great deal to hear that,” he said quietly. “After all, I started doing these things… because of you…”

Isabelle did her best to fade into the wall, to become invisible, to do anything in the world not to interrupt whatever was happening between her brother and the bard just now.

“Because of me?” Magnus asked, clearly surprised. “How so?”

Alexander chuckled and shrugged. “You made me see and feel and imagine so many things. It was wonderful, but… after a while, my hands felt empty. So I tried a few different pastimes. Now, I draw a little, write sometimes, carve. Nothing fancy or for display, just… for its own sake. To keep my hands busy, express myself. Feel that, in some small way, I am practicing my own creativity as you do so marvelously on a nightly basis.”

Isabelle stared. She’d never heard her brother say so many personal things to a relative stranger before, but clearly, her hunch had been correct: Magnus did mean rather a lot to her brother, and it was high time they met.

Magnus beamed, his smile bright and shining and full of amazed joy. “Oh, Alexander! That is so wonderful to hear! There are few things as satisfying as the creative pursuits, and I am so very pleased that my performances have led you to discover some passions of your own. And I would truly love to see anything you’d be willing to show me, Alexander. I have never been able to draw, myself, and I am deeply curious about your writing as well. However, I understand the artist’s spirit,” he said solemnly, “and I would never want you to feel pressured to share anything too personal.”

Alexander laughed, his crooked smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Magnus, I would be delighted to show you… as long as you realise they are truly nothing special.”

Magnus smiled warmly. “Friend, they give me reason to speak to you, to converse about art and creativity, to spend time together. What could be more special than that?” His voice was low, and Isabelle need not have worried about being a distraction since it seemed like neither of them remembered her existence just then.

Alexander swallowed. “When you say it so, it does make them sound rather…”

“Extraordinary?” Magnus asked. “Because I rather think so.”

Alec smiled, smaller but just as bright. “I shall trust your artistic instincts,” he said softly. “And look forward to seeing you again.”

Someone called Magnus’ name, and Magus raised a hand to acknowledge them but did not look away from Alexander.

“Tomorrow?” Magnus asked. “After my show?”

“Tomorrow,” Alexander agreed.

Magnus reached out, took Alexander’s hand, and raised it to his lips, returning Alexander’s gesture from earlier, and then he was gone in a flurry of movement, wending his way through the crowd with the grace of the dancer he was.

Alexander stared after him for a moment, then turned to Isabelle in something of a daze, seeming slightly breathless. Isabelle didn’t hesitate. She darted over to Alexander, hugging him tight. “I’m so proud of you,” she mumbled against Alexander’s shoulder.

Alexander chuckled and hugged her in return. “For what?”

“You know what,” Isabelle said, pulling back and smiling at him. “For being the best brother anyone could want. And for having the best taste in people. And for being brave tonight.”

Alexander smiled. “I must admit I’m nervous about showing Magnus anything I’ve done, but… it’s as he said. It’s reason to talk, and that will certainly be worth it.” He pressed his lips together. “And you don’t think me a fool?” he asked softly. “Sitting in a corner dreaming over a stranger for so long?”

Isabelle smiled. “Truth be told, Alexander, I think it sounds exactly like you.”

And as they walked home through the peaceful streets of Alicante with Alexander regaling her with tales of Magnus’ deeds and stories, Isabelle couldn’t help but think of all the things the future might hold for the two of them: her brother and the bard, so different, yet so well suited.


End file.
